


Hymn

by micehell



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Drama, Fluff, M/M, a tiny bit of angst, poetry related oddly enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-29
Updated: 2006-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:17:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ivory tinting to gold, edging to cream in coffee along the dips and valleys, dark lines leading down tempting, awful paths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hymn

**Author's Note:**

> This was an experiment in writing without structuring the story ahead of time, so I was trying to describe a scene in my head, and a line came to me about awful paths - awful, as in full of awe - which made me think of Shelley's _awful shadow of some unseen Power_. When I remembered where the quote was from ( _Hymn to Intellectual Beauty_ ), it made me laugh, well, 'cause of Reid and all, and because I'm easily amused, and things kind of went downhill from there. And, yes, I know that the poem wasn't actually about intellectual anything, but it was about beauty, so, hey, wtf, right? ;)

The tan walls were opalescent in the soft light from the lamp, the darker browns of dresser, floor, and comforter a rich contrast that deepened into black shadows. Jason kept the dimmer near its lowest setting, trying not to wake Spencer.

His dream still sat too close, flirting with the corner of his eye, in his reflection in the mirror. Sitting in the chair by the window - brown again, and maybe the color theme said something about him - Jason held his arms tight around him, warding off a deeper chill than the mild autumn air held. It had been months since he'd had that dream. It could have been years and still been too soon.

Spencer shifted in the bed, arm inching out onto the fading warmth of Jason's pillow. His head was nearly invisible from where Jason sat, just wisps of hair poking up beneath the edge of the comforter, but the arm, a leg, a long stretch of thigh and hip poked out from where Jason had thrown off the cover when the dream had gone. Even as he watched, the arm and leg made their way further into the empty space he'd left, goldfish growing to fill their environment. If he came to bed after Spencer, he always had to push him back to his side, wondering how so little matter could take up so much space.

Like the walls, the skin on those limbs held a soft glow where it was touched by the light. It was smooth and pale, perfect as skin in full light can never quite be. It was washed out of its normal color by the stark brown of the cover, by the dimness of the room, ivory tinting to gold, edging to cream in coffee along the dips and valleys, dark lines leading down tempting, awful paths. Before sleep had pulled him down and dream had pushed him back, Jason had walked those paths with touch and tongue, worshiped with the awe of the truly devout.

Jason let the familiar sight, the lingering scent of what they'd done, ground him, pushing back the dream. Better than television any day, a show that could be held.

The show twitched, REM seeming to travel through him. Jason wondered what he was dreaming, if they'd both be awake soon, but with a sigh, Spencer settled. The comforter fell further away, exposing one brown nipple, the sleep-warm flesh tightening in the cooler air.

Jason watched the rise and fall of that chest, empire to be seized, and his fingers itched to touch. But he leaned further back, arms loosening their hold around him, and let the planes and angles hold his thoughts. Spencer's body always amazed him; so thin, yet with a mysterious grace.

Warmth spread through him, chasing out the chill, and Jason smiled to himself. He loved Spencer's strange ability to take up all the bed. Loved the unusual grace, fluid and awkward at the same time. Loved warm, pale skin that could be felt even across a room, dearer for its mystery.

A shadow passed over an arm, over the arm of the chair, seeping through the window, but dying off in the light from the lamp. He looked out and saw thin clouds spread out and racing across a dark sky, too visible in the lights from the city. But the haze of light, the broken veil of clouds, cast ghostly halos around the moon and stars, a problem made beautiful.

Jason traced the moon on the smooth glass. A line came to him, _or moonlight on a midnight stream, gives grace and truth to life's unquiet dream_. Shelley probably, though he couldn't place it, but it fit his mood. He let his fingers still, enjoying the feel of the glass, the beauty of the sky, the moment.

Another sigh came from the bed, a mumble that might have been his name. Jason made his way back, settling carefully under the encroaching arm and leg. He could see Spencer's face now in the dim light, the tiny slits of eyes already closing back in sleep. He placed a soft kiss on the arm snaked across his chest and looked at that face, made perfect by dim light and strong memory, and followed him down.

/ficlet

**Author's Note:**

> And, yes, I did co-opt bits from the poem into the story. If you've never read it, well, I'm too lazy to write all of it out, but here's the first stanza, and I'm sure the rest of it is either in one of your Norton Anthologies (it's certainly in one of mine, 'cause it's not a poem that I would have committed in its entirety to memory, that's for sure ;D) or online somewhere.
> 
> The awful shadow of some unseen Power  
>  Floats through unseen among us; visiting  
>  This various world with as inconstant wing  
>  As summer winds that creep from flower to flower;  
>  Like moombeams that behind some piny mountain shower,  
>  It visits with inconstant glance  
>  Each human heart and countenance;  
>  Like hues and harmonies of evening,  
>  Like clouds in starlight widely spread,  
>  Like memory of music fled,  
>  Like aught that for its grace may be  
>  Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery.


End file.
